


At cards for kisses

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy, Fuck City
Genre: Crack, M/M, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-26
Updated: 2009-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for thebigexchange@LJ, using the fourth prompt given by <a href="http://users.livejournal.com/_slashygoodness/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://users.livejournal.com/_slashygoodness/"></a><b>_slashygoodness</b>: <i>Pete/Patrick or Andy/Matt, a modernized myth or fairytale with a happy ending</i>. It's (very) loosely based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche.</p>
    </blockquote>





	At cards for kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for thebigexchange@LJ, using the fourth prompt given by [](http://users.livejournal.com/_slashygoodness/profile)[](http://users.livejournal.com/_slashygoodness/)**_slashygoodness** : _Pete/Patrick or Andy/Matt, a modernized myth or fairytale with a happy ending_. It's (very) loosely based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

**one:**  
 _"Cupid and my Campaspe played_  
 _At cards for kisses, Cupid paid."_  
-John Lyly 

Matthew Mixon, currently hailing from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, was a Cupid, and held this position of dubious honour since he was eighteen years old. Which, ok, was totally great, but he definitely did _not_ carry around a bow and quiver like some fucking douche.

The powers of a Cupid are handed down from father to son, like some supernatural crown. So, when Matt hit the right age, his dad called him and said, "Matt. Take it away, son."

"Suppose I don't want it?" Matt had argued into the phone. His mom had passed by, humming in that obnoxious way she had whenever his dad called. She had turned back and stopped right in front of him, staring up in his face. Matt had blinked back at her. "Mom, could you... like, give me some space?"

"If it's the Cupid thing," his mom hissed at him, her pale eyes wide and angry. "Tell him he should just _keep_ it."

"You tell _her_ ," his dad said loudly into his ear, "that I can't, that's just the way it goes. As a matter of fact," his father continued, voice raising, and Matt held the receiver away slightly, "your mother doesn't have a say in this, anyway. She shouldn't let her bitter heart create a barrier for love to exist in the world. True love!"

"It's bitter because some asshole low-level god made it that way!" His mother yelled and Matt said hurriedly, "I'll take it, I'll take it," so he could hang up the phone and drag his mom outside to distract her with the dying plants in the front yard. He had been raking the leaves when it hit him suddenly: wow, he was a new Cupid. With, like the powers of _love_.

Holy _shit_.

*

A few days after that, Matt received a large box via priority mail. When he pulled it open in his room, kneeling on the carpet, he found the golden bow and arrows. He wrinkled his nose and covered it back with the bubble-wrap, not opening it again; not even when he was living with the FC dudes, not even when they were moving from one house to the other. He just hauled it from house to apartment to house, and never notched an arrow in the bow, because it was merely an affectation of the post.

The Cupids really didn't need bows and arrows at all, the original Cupid was just a trouble-making kind of dude. Also, Matt was sure it was illegal nowadays to be walking around with arrows strapped to his back, like that Cupid in Florida three months ago; what an idiot, shooting people in the ass. Most people didn't really appreciate being stuck with a sharp golden arrow, no matter the fact that they'd recognise their beloved within moments. Matt would probably shoot people in the ass too, but he wasn't that stupid.

The thing was, all a Cupid had to do was strike someone so that they'd be shaken out of their mundane view of the world, if only for a moment, to truly know their soul-mates. He could throw little pebbles at people and it'd work. Most times, if he was close enough, Matt settled himself with flicking an unsuspecting target in the ear, or poking them in the side, as he was walking by. He did that with Pete, it was super easy, and Pete had spent a long moment just staring at Patrick with his mouth wide open. That was always Matt's fave part, when he got the mates matched right. Sometimes it was a little difficult, because the auras tended to shift and change, colours bleeding and confusing Matt so that he wasn't quite sure who matched who, and he always worried that he wouldn’t match the right people at the right time.

But Pete and Patrick had been easy; once he'd seen them together, it had been as obvious as the nose on his face. Pete's aura had been a bold silver, like a freshly minted coin, and Patrick's had been the exact same shade. It was fucking serendipitous, and Matt hadn't wasted one minute, just reached out to the nearest of the pair by instinct.

Pete had made an abbreviated movement when Matt flicked his ear, as if he was going to turn around and yell at Matt, but he stopped, his gaze fixed on Patrick, who frowned back. This was the part Matt loved, that which made this Cupid gig totally worth it; Patrick blinked and his frown had softened until his face was open and amused.

"What?" he had asked, now smiling fully at Pete, who gave him a tentative grin in return.

"Nothing," Pete said faintly, but he had stayed close to Patrick for the rest of the day. Matt watched their auras link and entwine tightly, and was satisfied.

*

Matt thought about telling the other dudes what he was, but it was more difficult than he thought. How in the world did one go about explaining that, "Oh, hey, I'm a Cupid. I match people. Sometimes I get it wrong, but when I get it right, it's fucking-A."

They'd probably laugh their heads off; besides, how could he make them understand that deep sense of loss when he knew a person would never meet their match? It was unfortunate, but it happened. Sometimes, he'd see a person's aura and he'd know through some intense intuition that he would never see that shade again, on anyone else alive. Sure, they'd find love with someone else, but it would always be like a lamp compared to the sun. They'd never know that, though, so maybe that was for the best.

Like Hurley. He _worried_ about Hurley, who had one of the loveliest auras he'd ever seen. For such a surly, tiny dude, his was a soft, pale cream, like a luxurious satin. Matt had never seen its match; there were _similar_ ones, but they weren't close enough. He fretted as Andy slept around, knowing that the girl with the dark-red aura was _so_ not right, neither was that dude with the grassy-green. His instinct also informed him that Hurley's match was out there, somewhere. Matt just had to keep an eye out; soul-mates tended to drift near to each other. A Cupid could give a final push, if necessary.

As much as it gave him a small wrenching sensation in his chest to contemplate matching Andy, he'd definitely do it. Hurley deserved love and happiness, just like anyone else.

*

This personal mission of his was completely fucked up one day, when Andy discovered his arrows. Andy had been randomly rummaging around in his closet, borrowing a jacket that would really be too huge on him, and then yelled out, "Hey, what's in this box?"

"What box?" Matt had called back absently, turning a page of the book he was reading, sprawled out on his bed. Then, realization whacked him over the head and he flew off the bed, racing to his closet to see Andy kneeling on the ground and reaching out to touch one of the shiny golden arrows in the large box he'd managed to set on the ground. If he touched one and it pricked him, and his soul-mate wasn't close, then it would all get fucked up. Matt wasn't too sure _how_ , but it would.

"No!" Matt yelled, rushing towards him and stumbling over a shoe. He flailed and managed to knock himself in the nose with his own fucking hand, oh man it _hurt_ , and barely missed tumbling on top of Hurley like a felled tree. He ended up on his back beside Andy, dazed and disoriented.

Andy grabbed at his shoulders, hauling him into a seated position, and when Matt stared at him, he suddenly saw Andy as he'd never seen him before. His ink seemed brighter and his skin more pale. His hair looked so nice and soft, and Matt found himself stroking it with wondering fingers. Andy was looking at him in concern, and his lips were moving. Matt touched those too, just to feel them.

He said, "Andy," voice low and sounding far away to his own ears and Andy blinked at him, tilting his head like he heard something very weird, albeit very clear. Andy was actually leaning forward now, lips parting underneath Matt's fingers and Matt moved his hand down as he leaned in response, cupping Andy's chin.

Before their lips met, Matt jerked away, his heart thudding in his chest like a hammer. No, no, this… _fuck_. He had just made it worse.

"What?" Andy asked and he was breathing deeply. "What…" He broke off and gazed down at the bows and arrows. When he looked back at Matt, his eyes were confused. "What is this?"

Matt touched his bare shoulders, because he couldn't help it and Andy shivered a little at that. "I have something to tell you," he said and took a deep breath.

 

**two:**  
 _"With these the crystal of his brow_  
 _And then the dimple of his chin_  
 _All these did my Campaspe win."_  
-John Lyly 

"That's the most fucking ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Andy declared, frowning, so Matt dragged him downstairs to watch the rest of the guys playing some weird version of basketball out back, the both of them peering out the glass windows. Matt stood behind him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

"Kyle is blue, a light blue like the sky," Matt said softly and rest his hands in the curve of Andy's neck. He was in a heap of trouble, for now he knew: he had managed to strike _himself_ , and he didn't know how it worked with Cupids; they were probably just as susceptible as anyone else. The problem was that he'd never seen his own aura before, so he could only hope. "Ryan is gray, misty. Stu is… like a deep purple. Tyler is blue too, but his is more like blueberries, I guess."

Whatever it was that made him a Cupid, he sent it through his fingers into Andy's skin and Andy went rigid. Matt wanted to move his hands, but he kept them there, thumbs rubbing in slow circles.

"Do you see?" he whispered and Andy nodded, jerkily. Then, he turned slowly and Matt reluctantly let his hands fall away. Andy gazed up at Matt, his gaze completely unreadable, his lips tightly together. "So... it's like I was telling you. Something must have gone wrong, because I don't think we--"

"Yours is cream, I think," Andy interrupted in a low voice, his eyes tracking the air around Matt's body. "It's smooth and… really pretty."

"Like satin." Matt blinked down at him, not believing. Impossible; all this time... "Like yours." Matt looked down, and saw Andy's aura reaching out to him, wisps of it curling tightly in midair, locking tightly around his own which he couldn't see. He started in surprise as he felt Andy's hand sneak into his, Andy blinking up at him. "I wanted to match you," he said and stepped in close. "I mean, I was so fucking desperate to match you with somebody, I just. Didn't look close. Dude, I couldn't have _known_ , honestly."

"You wanted to match me?" Andy didn't appear as dazed as before; that was a good thing. "You wanted me to find my soul-mate?"

"It's not as cheesy as it sounds," Matt defended and Andy's fingers clenched tightly around his. "Um. And about the soul-mate thing. Apparently, I'm it. Hi."

"Hi." Andy was still gazing up at his face fixedly.

"I don't want you fucking around with anyone else, though," Matt gritted out, unsettled by Andy's current stillness, which was kind of creepy. He was just _staring_. "I have a bow and some arrows, I can fuck some shit--" he broke off as Andy kissed him suddenly, his other arm flung around Matt's neck, dragging him down as his lips moved eagerly over Matt's, who groaned as Andy's tongue stroked against his.

When Andy finally deigned to release him, it was Matt's turn to stare and be creepy.

"I won't," Andy said, lips curling up in a surprisingly sweet promise, and he kissed his Cupid again.

_fin_


End file.
